No-one Told Her Forever Doesn't Last
by eves-leaves
Summary: No-one told Clove forever doesn't last. AU Games-free Panem. Credits to QuitetheSardonic for the story idea.


I've been a Clato shipper ever since I read Clove's death scene in the book, but held off posting until seeing such an encouraging fandom. As much as I would like to take full credit for this piece, I need to thank QuitetheSardonic for the inspiration and idea of which I built this fic around. Her Clato fic 'Love the Way You Lie' was kind of a foundation for this one-shot, and you might recognize a few sentences or concepts. I give full credit to her. Please go check it out and leave a review, it's amazing.

I would love it if you would leave a review, but no flames please.

WARNING: ABUSE, SELF-HARM

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_**No-one Told Her Forever Doesn't Last**_

_**I don't want to die, I don't want to escape. I want to feel.**_

She learns escaping from pain is futile, so instead, she embraces it. She learns the pain is not unwelcome. She learns that whilst pain hurts, it is an emotion, and she wants to feel.

_**It is never only black or white. There is grey. And I wonder if I will ever find the right shade.**_

Her lips twist cruelly, long tapered fingers carefully tracing each scar; some pink, some fresh, some white, some old. Battle-scars. Each one tells a different story, each just as gory and sadistic as the last. But she's found a new subject. His body and mind is a fresh canvas just for her to play with. And she decides he deserves a virgin blade.

_**I love berries. They bleed the perfect hues of reds and pinks and purples and blues. The blood of the berries. I wonder, when I die, will I bleed just as prettily?**_

She finds it ironic how she's become a canvas again, but the artist is not her.

_**I'm insane, but I don't want to be sane. It's not because I don't know how to, but because for me, being sane would be insane.**_

It's crazy, she thinks, how she could't sleep unless his possessive hand was around her throat or his sinewy arm thrown territorially across her waist, enfolding her, her back to his front.

_**You are the sweetest wine.**_

_**You are the most potent poison.**_

Her eyes snap open, catching the furious blinking of the flashing digits on the clock. Turning slightly as not to disturb the sleeping form next to her, she suddenly catches sight of something on his palm. Pen marks.

_Clarisse_

_310-6268_

Her eyes harden.

_**There was always time for everything, except for me.**_

She slides down the wall, warily eyeing the aftermath of their self-destruction. Broken Bacardi bottles scatter about on the floor. Cigarette smoke lounges languidly in the thick, ominous air. Little blue and purple bruises decorate her arms, marring her fair skin. She finds it inevitable to not think back to simpler times.

"_No! Stop it!" she giggles as his fingers dig into her ribs, causing her to erupt into broken chuckles._

_Laughing, his fingers dances up her arms. "Why? Ticklish?"_

_She nods, a goofy grin on her face. And next thing she knows, she's on the warm sand being kissed by the dirty-blonde haired Adonis. Sighing contently, she thinks: life would be perfect if it stayed like this forever._

No-one told her forever wouldn't last.

_**I don't know whether to cry or laugh.**_

He's already escaped their tension-filled apartment, and she thinks _why not?_ She should be allowed to have fun as well. Soon enough, she finds herself at the bar. Her mind is hazy and someone is smiling at her. They make her feel giggly, and she is glad to be reminded once more to feel gleeful. She almost even forgets about the yellow and purple marks in the shape of large handprints that bruise her pale skin. He leans in for a kiss and suddenly, he's lying on the floor with a broken nose with _him_ on top of him. By the time, _he_ decides he's done enough damage and backs off, she's already gone.

_**You are red, the colour of passion, lust and life. **_

_**You are red, the colour of hatred, blood and death.**_

"Welcome home, honey." She cocks her head to one side and try to decipher his indifferent expression.

"God's sake, don't piss me off even more." He glares and she swears she can actually feel his anger burning inside of her. Still, she spurs him on, because this is all she knows, all they know.

"Aww, who got your panties in a twist?" Her voice is scathing, spiteful, bitter.

She looks up just in time to see his fist clenching up, but before she can raise a hand herself, feels a hot, throbbing pain sear through her cheek. She gapes at him and she can see he's just as in much disbelief as she is. She crumples onto the floor and watches as he stumbles out, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake.

_**Everytime you walk away,**_

_**New bruises form.**_

_**But I breathed through the pain, **_

_**I don't regret anything more.**_

_**Now that my eyes have been opened, **_

_**I see it was just a phase, **_

_**never shall I say again again,**_

'_**I'm forever yours'.**_

He's an unmoving black silhouette against the dark wall. He stands impassively, arms crossed over his chest.

"Where were you?" She mumbles almost incoherently.

A cruel laugh escapes those sculpted lips of his and he holds out a hand.

"Come here." He murmurs darkly, sensually.

She swallows, "You never answered my question."

He rolls his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Now come here." He tips his chin, beckoning for her to come to him.

A moment of hesitation.

"Don't be difficult, babygirl."

And she goes to him, just like that, collapsing into his open arms. Always.

_**I hope you're not waiting for me to cry.**_

"Cry, goddamit!" He growls, taking her head between his palms and shakes, as if wanting to jolt tears from her brown doe-eyes. All he wants is for her to show emotion, to feel so he won't feel as if he destroyed her soul.

But she refuses to be weak. So instead, she fights, her tears leaking out in form of half-hearted punches.

_**I know**_

_**I'm deluding myself **_

_**into thinking it'll all work out,**_

_**I know life isn't a fairy tale,**_

_**past experiences**_

_**has washed away**_

_**all doubt.**_

Pushing her down onto the bed and laying down next to her, he gathers her into his protective embrace.

Beating her fists on his chest, she screams hysterically. 'WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME? I JUST WANT TO BE NORMAL! STOP ROLLING YOUR EYES! YOU FIND THIS FUNNY? I'M JUST A SHELL OF A BROKEN GIRL. WELL SO ARE YO-'.

Tiring of her mocking rejection to talk calmly and her agitated state, he silences her by clasping a hand over her mouth, and getting bored with that, lets his hand slide down to clench around her throat. She finally-unsurprisingly, relaxes under his firm hold, and quietens down with a genuine smile on her face. He smirks delightedly at her, "You're twisted."

_**We were so wrong that it was right.**_

And suddenly she feels so tired. So tired of everything. She sags against his strong arms and closes her eyes.

He buries his nose into her hair and inhales her scent, vanilla and something that's so uniquely _her_. "Your hair smells good."

Reaching out with her pinky finger, she traces her initials she carved into his fine skin next to his right hipbone. She feels him lift her shirt and do the same, tenderly following the jagged lines of the engraving of his own initials on her hip.

"I can't do this anymore." And she's surprised with how right those words feel slipping past her normally cruel, cold mouth.

She takes a deep breath and breaks out of his cage of arms. Striding determinedly to the closet, she pulls out a small suitcase and starts stuffing clothes in. She knows not to turn around, because if she looks into those eyes of his for just a second, she will lose her willpower. Entice, tempt and snare- his specialty.

"What are you doing?" Deep inside, he knows, but he stays in denial. She can't.

She lets out a short laugh and runs a hand through her hair. "I'm leaving." Can she really do this? This is all she knows. He's the only one who understands her, knows her and doesn't mind who she really is. A cold, sadistic, lost, insecure, insane bitch.

_**Once, there was only coldness. Then you came along and there was so much more...**_

She's on the sidewalk and stretches out her arm for a cab when he bursts out of the front door.

"Where are you going?" he whispers, incredulousness clouding his handsome features.

"I'm leaving. I'll go insane if I don't." She mutters breathlessly, looking down, not wanting to see his reaction to her cowardliness. Is it the truth? She doesn't know. She probably never will. Because she knows what will happen next.

As her words finally, slowly but surely sink in, panic and fear overwhelms his expression. "You can't leave!"

Vulnerability finally seeps through his carefully constructed walls, revealing a soft side she hasn't seen in a long time. She doesn't know what frightens her more, how uncharacteristically he's behaving or the fact that he actually seems terrified she's leaving.

Before she can blink, she finds herself once again enveloped in the soft shelter of his arms. For a moment, she's overwhelmed by how perfectly her head fits against the cradle of his neck and shoulder.

"I'll change. For us. I swear I will. Tell me what I can do. Just don't leave. I'll do everything." He breathes, his voice muffled by her dark locks.

And just like that, she's back inside their flat.

A vicious, never-ending cycle they can never escape from.

_**There's no happy, only alright or not.**_

She doesn't say it but they both know- neither of them has to worry about the other leaving.

Because they're the only ones insane enough to put up with each other.


End file.
